Page 51 of Falling for the Grumpy Bad Boy

“Clem—”

“Don’t.” She held up a hand to stop me. “Just don’t. I get it. Message received.”

I wanted to explain, but the words stuck in my throat.

I walked inside and went to get her a towel. I quickly wrapped one around my waist and returned to the balcony. She was still in the hot tub, though she had moved back to her original position on the far side. She didn’t look at me as I approached.

“The room is ready,” I said, setting a clean towel on the chair next to her dress.

She nodded but didn’t move to get out. “Thank you.”

I stood there for a moment, waiting for her to say something else. I hoped she was going to tell me I was right. It was a mistake. But she kept her eyes fixed on the bubbling water. I realized she was waiting for me to leave.

Duh.

She was basically naked and I had rejected her. She wasn’t about to give me another show.

Part of me wanted to apologize, but I wasn’t entirely sure what I’d be apologizing for. For kissing her? For stopping? For doing the smart thing instead of being reckless?

But apologizing wasn’t something I did. And what did I have to be sorry for, anyway? I was looking out for both of us. I turned and went back inside, giving her privacy to get out and get dressed.

A few minutes later, I heard the sliding door open and close. I stayed in my bedroom.

“Goodnight, Rhett,” she called out.

“Goodnight,” I replied, though I wasn’t sure if she heard me.

I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, trying to convince myself I had made the right choice. I was in a position of authority on this tour, however informal that authority might be. Getting involved with her would be a disaster waiting to happen.

And it felt like I was disrespecting Desman in some way. He’d trusted me with his baby girl, the most precious thing in his whole world. The least I could do was keep my dick away from her.

There was the media to consider as well. If anyone found out about this, if there were photos or rumors, it would be exactly the kind of scandal that could destroy everything I worked for. I had seen it happen to other chefs and celebrities. One inappropriate relationship, one bad headline, and suddenly you were persona non grata. If it was a slow news cycle, it would take even longer to recover.

Not to mention my family history. The last thing I needed was to give anyone more ammunition to use against me. My cousins had made enough mistakes over the years. I couldn’t afford to add my own to the list.

I was protecting her. I was protecting both of us. It was the smart thing to do, the responsible thing.

So why did it feel like I had just made the biggest mistake of my life?

I rolled over, punched my pillow, and tried to get comfortable. It had nothing to do with being afraid of catching feelings. This was purely practical.

The fact that I could still feel the ghost of her lips against mine and my cock was hard as a rock was completely irrelevant.

I did the right thing.

No more touching. Definitely no more kissing.